Lion Heart
by Sheblet
Summary: In another land, the Savior prepares to do battle with the Evil Queen. / Weird little oneshot that wouldn't leave me alone


**Lion Heart**

Snow cannot remember seeing Emma this confident and powerful before.

The Savior holds herself with dignity on her roan steed, head high, eyes steely. Her chain mail glints in the sun and makes her look broader than usual. Snow smiles. The Mary Margaret in her still can't get used to this image of her roommate, but the Snow White in her knows this is all she could have ever wanted for her daughter.

Emma notices her staring and takes this moment to express, "I think I'm gonna puke."

Snow smiles. "Could have fooled me," she says. "You look like a real savior now."

"That's good I guess, considering my insides are kinda like jelly."

Snow reaches up to put a gloved hand on a mail-clad arm. "You're going to be fine."

Emma looks unconvinced and a little uncomfortable, but she doesn't pull away from her mother's touch. She might still be getting used to even _having _a mother, but she's trying, and Snow glows at the prospect.

"Mom!" a voice calls, and Henry runs up, all overgrown tawny hair and gawky, too-long limbs. He's getting older, Emma realizes. His tunic and robes don't quite dwarf him anymore.

"Henry," sighs Emma, her nerves forgotten, and she hops off her horse for a moment to accept her son's fervent embrace.

"Please," Henry says, voice cracking, though from emotion or age Emma isn't sure. "please don't kill her. You might be my real mom, and she might be evil, but please, she's still my mom, too."

Of all the things Emma had been expecting, this is not one of them. But she knows it makes sense – the woman had raised him. Henry could never stand back and see her die.

"Henry, I-"

"You're too good-hearted, anyway," he says. "I don't think you could take it. Just… please, think about it."

Emma doesn't know what to say to that, so she just gazes at him, smoothing down his unruly hair. She grasps the sides of his face gently and pulls him in for a kiss to the top of his head, realizing with a stomach clench that she doesn't have to crouch down to reach him anymore.

"So tall," Emma admires. "Stop growin', wouldya? I don't want to come back and find you've gotten taller than me. Kapish?" Henry grins and says slyly, "No promises."

Emma ruffles the hair she'd just been trying to smooth into submission. "You be good, now. Hold down the fort for us, okay?"

"Sure thing."

"And…. One more thing." Though Henry is more than tall enough to make eye contact with normally now, Emma unconsciously crouches, sitting back on her haunches, grasping each of his hands in each of hers. As if he is still a little ten-year-old.

But he isn't quite so little anymore.

"You're growin' up, kid. Like a weed, actually." They share a breathy laugh. "But you're becoming a young man. So it's time I treated you like one. No more kid stuff, you hear?"

Henry looks unsure, but he nods. "Okay…"

"If I…. If I don't come back-" she pauses. Henry's face doesn't change. He waits patiently for her to finish.

"If I don't come back, you're in charge. You'll be big man on campus. I want you to take good care of your grandparents for me, all right?"

Henry's face has hardened, his chest puffing out, his eyes alight with the fire of young manhood as he accepts his responsibilities. "I consider it an honor," he says, in the most regal voice he can attempt, and for a moment he reminds her of her father. She chokes on tears.

"Good man," she says, standing fully again, and Henry startles her with one last, fierce embrace before running back towards the castle.

"Are you ready?" asks David, approaching on his own steed as Emma remounts hers. Snow comes up behind him, also riding atop a beast.

"Wait," Emma protests, "I thought we agreed-"

"We're not letting you go alone, Emma," Snow insists.

"I have a _whole army_-"

"We can't lose you again," David clarifies.

And Emma can't argue with that.

It's the bloodiest battle Emma has ever seen – well, truthfully, the _only _battle she has ever seen. Is it always this bloody? Is it always this heart-in-throat, stomach-in-feet terrifying? She wants to ask, but that would be inappropriate.

She's the Savior. She has a reputation to keep.

She meets the Queen with clashing sword and purple magic. Regina's dark, twisting powers are strong, and Emma can feel their influence seeping inside her, trying to sway her, to tempt her.

_Just kill her._

No. She'd promised Henry.

But with every strike of the Queen's magic she feels herself weakening; each time she is thrown into a wall or knocked, teeth clacking together, onto the floor, she loses more hope.

_No._

She runs at the Queen once more, sword raised in defense, but with one lazy sweep of Regina's arm she is struck with a powerful force that sends her pitching forward, the ground coming up to meet her fast.

"You cannot defeat me, _Savior,_" the Queen sneers, and Emma tastes blood. She must have bitten her tongue.

She hopes she bit her tongue.

"You're worthless, you see? The prophecy was wrong. You will fail _everybody._"

Emma knows it's the dark magic surrounding her that makes her believe the words; knows it's her inner fears that are magnifying the effect tenfold.

"And when you fail, dearest Emma-" a hand on her face, gripping her chin with talon-like red nails, "I will take my son back. _He will be mine once again._"

And Emma has heard enough.

It takes her a moment to realize that something inside her has risen, pushing up and out, giving her strength – another moment to realize that Regina is no longer in front of her, but several feet away, prone on the marble floor.

The Savior takes seven purposeful steps forward, stopping to stand over the Queen's momentarily paralyzed body. She raises her sword-

_Please, she's still my mom, too._

The blade trembles.

"What's the matter, Miss Swan? Aren't you going to kill me?" The Queen smirks.

Emma remembers her son's fearful face and pleading voice and suddenly, clear as day, she knows what she must do.

She can't explain how she knows, same as she can't explain how she can do magic. It just comes to her, and she just _knows._

Emma grabs Regina by the expensive neckline of her dress and heaves her into a semi-upright position, hearing the seams pop with strain.

"I shall spare your life" growls the Savior, and it is as if she has become someone else in her new knowledge. "But only because Henry wishes it."

Her army gathers behind her, drawn by the suddenly powerful, clear voice of their leader.

"You are foolish," snarls the Queen.

"I haven't finished!" roars Emma. "I will spare your life. However, I _am _going to strip you of every last bit of magic. You will then spend the rest of your life locked in our highest tower. _That _is your punishment."

The Queen panics at these words, at the prospect of losing such a major part of her. She tries to struggle, but is still immobilized by the Savior's power.

"No," Regina gasps. "_No. _Show me mercy, I beg you – _kill me instead._"

"Without magic you are nothing. You can no longer hurt us." Emma tightens her jaw and clenches her teeth. She closes her eyes and begins to concentrate.

"No! I cannot live without it! No! _Mercy!_"

Emma can feel the transfer, can feel an energy passing through her to escape to oblivion. It is exhausting, and she tightens her grip on the dress, trying to keep her head.

_"Please!_"

But the deed is done, and the Queen goes limp, weakened by the draining of her main source of energy for so many years. In the end, her reliance on power was her biggest weakness.

Emma lets go then, and Regina slumps to the ground, looking dazed.

"Take her away," Emma commands the room at large, but her army is momentarily stunned. No one moves. No one speaks.

More importantly, no one is _doing as she says-_

"Take her _away_!" the Savior howls, and several men scurry forward at once, grabbing the Queen by her elbows and dragging her away. The rest of the battle force bursts into chatter then, nervous and unsure of whether or not they should celebrate, for their Savior is white-faced and unhappy looking.

Emma lifts her sword and goes to turn, but tips forward, her weapon startlingly heavy. In fact, her whole body feels heavy, and she stumbles.

"Emma," a soft voice calls, and warm arms are suddenly around her and she's so tired and-

And Regina's voice won't stop _echoing in her mind-_

_ Please!_

_ Mercy!_

Her heart aches, and for a moment she considers yelling _I didn't sign up for this! _But she just doesn't have the energy.

"Oh, Emma," she recognizes the voice as her mother's, and Emma doesn't realize she's crying until a gentle hand comes up to swipe away the tears.

And once she realizes she's crying, she can't stop.

"Oh, oh," sighs Snow. "My Emma. Don't. You did the right thing. You are so good, and kind-hearted and _brave._"

And the Savior is reduced to sobbing into her mother's arms.

It's not how a victorious warrior should act, but somehow, Emma can't bring herself to care.


End file.
